Stephanie's Trial Read online

  Venetia knelt on the bed between Stephanie's legs. Then she lent down until her breasts rested against Stephanie's, her rock-hard nipples pressing into Stephanie's chest. With her hand she guided the head of the dildo to the opening of Stephanie's cunt. Immediately Stephanie wrapped her arms around Venetia's back, and pulled herself down onto the black shaft. She was in no mood for subtlety. The shaft filled her, took her breath away with its size. A dildo was not like a cock. It was cold and hard, not warm and alive. Venetia started moving like a man, fucking her like a man would with a cock, bucking her hips up and down, pushing the dildo forward with her pubis.

  Stephanie's cunt was awash with juices and the lubricant Venetia had applied to the dildo. She could feel its unyielding hardness churning inside her, right up against the neck of her womb, but best of all was the thick black leather that held it in place, crushed into her clitoris. Almost from the moment it had entered her she had started to come again, twisting and wriggling under Venetia's soft feminine body, enjoying the contrast, feeling her spongy tits against her own, her soft arse under her hands, and yet feeling the rigid shaft she was propelling into her like a man. Waves of sensation rolled over her as Venetia's buttocks propelled the dildo back and forth. Waves of sensation joined with emotion and with memory, a thousand sexual images ran through her head. Somewhere at the back of her mind the thought occurred to her that perhaps that was the reason her orgasms were so much more intense and shattering than they had been before she'd started her sexual adventure. Perhaps sex was cumulative, perhaps images from all the orgasms she'd had in the last months joined together each time, conspired each time to bring her off harder, deeper, longer. Like now. Like the orgasm that rushed through her body now, wiping out all conscious thought, destroying everything but sensation, breaking over the head of the dildo and out to touch and excite every nerve in her body and lock every muscle, as her eyes rolled back in her head to envelope her in a blackness so total it was as though she'd passed out.

  She felt the dildo slide out of her sex and Venetia's body roll to one side. For a moment she could not move. The aftermath was too involving, demanding all her mind and senses. But as her mind slowly regained precedence over her emotions again, she turned her head to look at Venetia who was lying on her side in a foetal position, her knees drawn up against her large breasts, the big black dildo nestling against her belly.

  Stephanie got to her knees. She unbuckled the strap in the small of Venetia's back. Venetia opened her legs and Stephanie pulled the strap away. She unbuckled the waist belt too and threw the harness to one side.

  Moving down the bed, Stephanie kissed Venetia's hip. There was no need to return the favour, of course. Venetia was a slave, a thief, she could be used like all the other slaves, used and discarded. But Venetia was special. It was only six months ago that Venetia had been the first woman Stephanie had ever had sex with. That wasn't quite true. There had been a woman before, with Martin, but Stephanie - though the experience had thrilled her - had always thought of that as Martin's fantasy, not her own. With Venetia, for the first time, it had been one on one. She could not delude herself that it was to give a man pleasure. The pleasure had been all her own. Of course then she had known nothing of the castle and all its secrets, and little about her own proclivities.

  But whatever she had learnt subsequently had not changed her basic affection for Venetia and she knew it never would. She would play with her, tease her, use her but she could never leave her, as she was now, excited yet unfulfilled.

  With pressure from her hand Stephanie indicated that Venetia should turn onto her back. Almost before she had done so Stephanie leant forward, her mouth lapping at Venetia's flat navel. Venetia opened her legs and Stephanie immediately moved her head down to her sparsely haired pubis. She could see where the straps of the harness had chafed her inner thighs and she kissed the red marks tenderly, making Venetia moan.

  Venetia's labia were the most symmetrical Stephanie had ever seen, an almost perfect oval neatly contained by fleshy outer lips. Her fair pubic hair, nowhere longer than half an inch but not shaved or cut, only covered the triangle of her belly and there was nothing to conceal the detail of her sex. The labia glistened. Wrapping her arms around the underside of both her thighs, Stephanie used the tips of her fingers on either side to prise the labia apart. The aroma of sex filled the air as they opened with an audible squelch. Stephanie stared into the irregular dark entrance to her cunt. All this was calculated and controlled. What followed next was not. Suddenly something snapped in Stephanie. Her desire to feel and taste and suck on Venetia's hot wet sex overwhelmed her. Still holding the labia with the tips of her fingers, she plunged her head down between Venetia's thighs and centred her tongue on the opening she had made, thrusting her tongue into Venetia's cunt as far as it would go. Venetia's cunt felt tight and wet: she tasted sweet. Stephanie reamed her with her tongue and heard her moan with pleasure. She sucked her labia into her mouth too, greedy to taste every part of her.

  Venetia's body was throbbing. She closed her eyes for a moment and in the darkness felt Stephanie's mouth working frantically on her sex. Then she opened them again to watch Stephanie's head bobbing between her thighs, her long black hair draped over her lap.

  Venetia was coming. Her body began to sing as Stephanie's mouth moved up from her cunt to her hard, engorged clitoris. The very tip of Stephanie's tongue teased it at first, just the faintest of touches. But the teasing didn't last long. Soon Stephanie couldn't resist the temptation to take up a rhythm, circle the little bud of nerves with the full weight of her tongue.

  Venetia responded instantly. Her body began to heave, her breathing shallow and erratic. Her big breasts were trembling so much she had to steady them with her hands, pinching at her own nipples at the same time. The sensations in her body began to coalesce.

  Stephanie sensed her mounting excitement, feeling the thrills of Venetia's body as they coursed through her nerves. Her clitoris was alive, dancing under Stephanie's tongue. Venetia was at the brink, her muscles stretched and taut, her body arched off the bed. At that moment Stephanie drove two fingers straight into the depths of Venetia's cunt, up into the flood of juices that ran down the silky walls. Venetia groaned with sheer unadulterated pleasure. Stephanie added a third finger and pushed all three as deep as her knuckles would allow. Her little finger found the opening of Venetia's anus and slipped into it with ease: the juices from her cunt had lubricated it copiously.

  That was the last straw for Venetia. Stephanie's hand, virtually her whole hand, lunging into the two openings of her body, front and rear, took her over the edge. Every nerve, every muscle, everything that was capable of feeling sensation spasmed and locked. She arched off the bed one last time and then collapsed, melted, fell backward into pitch blackness and endless exploding pleasure, her mind completely overloaded with feeling.

  But her collapse did not last long. On the back of her orgasm was born a new desire. Stephanie was kneeling at her side, her buttocks raised in the air. Venetia let go of her breasts and reached over to pull at Stephanie's leg. Stephanie knew immediately what she wanted. And Stephanie wanted it too. She swung her legs open, without moving her mouth from Venetia's sex, and planted her thighs either side of Venetia's head, her sex, its thick pubic hair plastered down with its own wetness, inches from Venetia's mouth.

  Stephanie's tongue redoubled its efforts. Having felt Venetia's orgasm she worked it harder, not making circles now but long sweeps up and down the whole plane of her sex from clitoris to anus, like a child licking an ice-cream, lapping up all the juices that ran from her body. Then she went back to her clitoris again, tonguing it delicately while her fingers reinserted themselves in cunt and anus and drove home with no gentleness.

  Venetia tried to concentrate, fighting the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her again. She looped her arms around Stephanie's thighs and levered her head off the bed. Her tongue found Stephanie's clit, her fingers on her labia. Stephanie could n
ot suppress a moan - though it was gagged on Venetia's sex - as she felt Venetia's hot mouth hard up against her already sensitised clitoris.

  Venetia sucked, sucked the lozenge of flesh, sucked it up into her mouth like a limpet clinging to a rock. Stephanie moaned again, feeling herself tempted again, feeling that first telltale tingle that told her she would not be satisfied until yet another orgasm was wrung from her senses.

  Everything was so exciting; every touch, every taste, everything she saw. What Venetia did to her was perfectly matched to what she did to Venetia. It was a harmony like music and both women knew it would end only one way. They felt each other's excitement, felt the waves of pleasure pounding through their bodies, the peaks getting higher and the troughs deeper until there was nothing but feeling, their clitorises and cunts raw with so much sensation, begging to be released from the tension that filled them.

  There was so little time between Venetia's orgasm and Stephanie's that it was like one massive coming. So close were they, so perfectly tuned to each other's body, so able to feel exactly what the other one felt, each nuance of feeling, each wave of sensation, that it was as if their orgasm was doubled, echoing from one body to another like sound in a canyon, bouncing back and forth.

  They clung to each other as though they were drowning, their bodies sinking together into the sea of absolute pleasure.

  Stephanie was the first to move. She got to her feet and picked up the black leather harness from the floor. The dildo was still wet and glistened.

  She strapped the leather around her waist and stooped to pull the harness between her legs.

  'Buckle it for me, Venetia,' she said, a tone of hardness creeping into her voice again.

  Chapter Three

  The black stretched Cadillac limousine was not the ideal car to drive into the centre of London but its chauffeur was used to manoeuvring its length through the sometimes narrow streets, and for Stephanie the cavernous and luxurious interior was something she particularly enjoyed. She had not been in it since it had taken her to the airfield for her first flight to Lake Trasimeno and the island castle. That seemed a long time ago now, though it was in fact no more than a few months.

  Stephanie had breakfasted lightly and alone. Venetia had gone to the office early to deal with queries from Devlin in Moscow that had come in overnight. As Stephanie intended to spend the whole morning shopping she wore a cream wool dress that buttoned down the front: it would be easy to get into and out of while she was trying on clothes. Her fur coat was beside her on the black leather bench seat of the Cadillac against the possibility of an autumn chill.

  She was tempted by the champagne that rested in a silver wine-cooler in a custom-made bar built from walnut, with receptacles for glasses as well as the wine. But she decided she would wait until later; she would probably be glad of a glass around mid-morning.

  The Cadillac glided to a halt outside Yves Saint Laurent in Bond Street, the chauffeur quickly getting out and running round to open the rear passenger door for Stephanie. She didn't need the coat. The heavy cloud of yesterday had been replaced by a clear sky and the sun had already taken the morning chill from the air. The chauffeur also opened the plate-glass door to the shop.

  Inside, Stephanie browsed happily with an assistant in attendance, obviously impressed by the waiting limousine. For the next three hours Stephanie was in and out of the changing rooms of most of the couture houses in Bond Street: Versace, Ferre, Gucci, Valentino and Lagerfeld. She chose shoes from Rossetti and le Perla underwear from Courtney, the Cadillac following her, her purchases loaded into its vast boot.

  By twelve-thirty she was tired and hungry, and decided to forego the champagne in the car for a glass of champagne over lunch. As it was so near she got the Cadillac to take her to the Ritz where she was ushered through the revolving doors in Arlington Street by a uniformed commissionaire and escorted to a table in the bar by a morning-suited under-manager. Almost immediately a smart white linen-jacketed waiter - not so different from the uniform of the castle servants - appeared to take her order.

  'Good morning madam, what may I get you?'

  'A glass of champagne. And would you ask the restaurant for a table for lunch? Just for one.'

  'Certainly, madam.'

  The waiter disappeared. It was only a minute before he set a glass of champagne down on the table in front of her. She sipped it gratefully.

  'The table's booked, madam,' he said.

  'Thank you,' Stephanie nodded, the champagne instantly restoring her energy level. She looked around her as the waiter walked away again. Most of the tables were occupied by businessmen, all wearing suits and talking earnestly. There were two floridly dressed women in one corner, both looking as though they had come up from the country for the day. But apart from them and one woman, a young blonde, sitting at a table with four men, there were no other women to be seen.

  'Did you want to see a menu, madam?' A waiter was standing in front of her, holding out a large restaurant menu bound in leather.

  'No. I know what I want. Do you have any oysters?'

  'Yes, madam.'

  'I'll have a dozen please. And then a roast partridge.'

  'With a selection of vegetables?'

  'Yes. And a good claret. A half-bottle.'

  The waiter looked quizzical. 'The good clarets only come in bottles, madam.'

  'I suppose you're right. Then bring me a bottle of Haut Brion. A good year. And what I don't drink you can have.'

  The remark did not bring a smile to his face. 'Certainly madam.' He bowed slightly and went away.

  The one thing the kitchens at the castle could not cater for was English game and the idea of having a partridge had taken Stephanie's fancy. She found herself salivating at the prospect. It was hardly a light lunch but she would compensate by having little to eat tonight.

  'Excuse...' The voice came from her left. She turned to identify its owner. A middle-aged Japanese man sat at the table next to hers. He was immaculately dressed in a navy blue suit, a white shirt and a navy silk tie. His black hair was thick and wavy, beginning to grey over his ears. His face was rugged and strong, his chin square and his hooded epicanthic eyes a very dark brown. 'Excuse...' he repeated, his voice a velvet thickness with only a hint of a Japanese accent, 'I heard you order partridge. What is, please?'

  'Ah... it's a bird, game bird.'

  'Bird, like chicken?'

  'Yes. Well no, not really, it's wild. Quite a gamey taste.'

  'I try, I think. I have been in England six months but I never heard of this.'

  'Oh, the season's only just started. You can only get them in the autumn.'

  'I see. I see. Thank you. Please excuse the interruption.'

  Apart from his eyes, there was very little Japanese about the man. The way he sat, relaxed and at ease, suggested a strong physical presence. He looked fit. He was, Stephanie thought, a very attractive man.

  'Why don't you join me?' she said.

  'No. I interrupt. Please forgive this.'

  'Not at all. I'd like it, please. Would you like a glass of champagne?'

  'In Japan, for a woman to offer man champagne, would be considered... odd.'

  'We're not in Japan.'

  He smiled broadly at that, showing his very white and regular teeth. 'Then I accept.'

  The man got up. He was taller than most Japanese men and broad in the chest. His suit fitted perfectly. Stephanie glimpsed a gold Rolex on his wrist and gold cufflinks. He stood in front of her.

  'Kakuta Kanjii,' he said, bowing, then extended his hand.

  'Stephanie Curtis.' She shook his hand.

  He sat in the chair opposite her, his eyes glancing over her body, pausing to enjoy the view of her crossed legs the knee-length of the skirt of the dress provided. Stephanie caught the waiter's eye and ordered another glass of champagne with sign language.

  'I do not usually drink at lunchtime,' Kanjii said.

  'So what are you doing in London?'

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sp; 'I come to sell my equipment. I have company that makes machines. Robots. For factories. I work in London six months and in Tokyo six months.'

  'Your English is very good.'

  'I try. I think it will be better. You have ever been to Japan?'

  'No.'

  'It is very crowded. But also beautiful. Mount Fuji, and at the sea.'

  'I'd love to go there.'

  Kanjii talked easily, his body relaxed, occasionally, using his hands for emphasis. He had long fingers with his nails professionally manicured; the backs of his fingers and hands were lightly covered with long black hairs. He was more than passingly attractive, Stephanie decided. It was something in those dark eyes, the way they looked at her, his eyelids giving the impression of intensity. Even after the excesses of last night Stephanie felt her body stirring, imagining those hands on her body, and those eyes.

  They talked constantly and had lunch together, Kanjii ordering the same meal as Stephanie and enthusing over the roast partridge and the 1971 Haut Brion the wine waiter had selected. He seemed fascinated with every word she said, looking steadily at her across the lunch table in the restaurant overlooking Green Park, the leaves on the trees browned and yellowed by the season, though still mostly clinging precariously to the branches.

  'So you live in Italy now?' he asked.

  'Yes. In a castle on an island in Lake Trasimeno.'

  'It is beautiful, yes?'

  'Very.'

  'And may I please be personal?'

  'You may.'

  'You do not wear a wedding band. You are not married?'

  'No.'

  'But you are with a man nevertheless?'

  'Yes...' She saw his face fall slightly as she said it, '...and no.'

  'No?' He brightened at this.

  'The castle belongs to a man, yes, but I am a free agent. I do what I please. We have an arrangement.'